


And to All a Good Knight

by knightshade



Category: Knight Rider (1982)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Holidays, Humor, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2018-03-01 13:59:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2775617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightshade/pseuds/knightshade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Guess who's dressing up as Santa for the Foundation's Christmas party.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And to All a Good Knight

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Knight Rider, its characters, ideas, branches, divisions, or wholly owned subsidiaries. Glen A. Larson and Universal have that privilege. 
> 
> Author’s Notes: And one more short holiday fic. For Vespurrs with a hearty thank you for being the consummate Knight Rider fan. Sorry to have left you minding the store for so long. This isn’t quite the Devon and Kitt buddy fic we were talking about but there’s a hint of it in there. 
> 
> And yes, I couldn’t think of a good title so campy, cheesy, it is. Again, cannot write fluff without cheddar – and not even a nice brie or gorgonzola, cheddar. *sighs and wanders off back to the angst which is ever so much easier*

“No. Ho, ho, ho, Merry Christmas,” Michael said, suppressing a grin.

“Ho, ho, ho, Merry Christmas” Devon repeated.

“You still sound British. _Merry Christmas_.”

“I fail to see the great tragedy in having a British Santa,” Devon said, raising an eyebrow.

“These are American kids, Devon. They expect Santa to have an American accent.”

Michael was trying to keep a straight face. He was having way too much fun. The man who was going to play Santa for the Foundation’s family Christmas party had called in sick at the last minute, leaving few options for a replacement. Devon had ended up with the task and he seemed distinctly uncomfortable. “Besides, it gives you away. You’d hate to have the kids figure out you aren’t really Santa. You don't want that on your conscience, do you?”

“Everyone knows that Santa Claus can't make all his public appearances and sends emissaries instead. Continue to make light and Santa’s going to have a very American, unusually tall, tight-wearing elf at his side,” Devon said drolly.

“I’d pay for a picture of that,” Bonnie said, peeking out from under Kitt’s chassis.

“You can be made an elf too,” Michael said, smiling at her.

“Yes, but wearing tights doesn’t bother me nearly as much as it would bother you.”

“Besides,” Michael said, ignoring her and adopting an indignant tone, “I doubt you could find an elf costume my size.”

“Don’t tempt me.” Devon peered into a mirror, having come out to the Foundation’s mobile unit to change into costume to avoid the party goers who had already gathered at the estate.   He applied spirit gum to his upper lip and along his jawline before pressing the white beard to it. He gave the gum a minute to set and then turned to Michael. “Ho, ho, ho, Merry Christmas” he said again.

Michael laughed. “Still British. _Ho, ho, ho. Merry Christmas._ ”

“I give up. It’s enough that I'll be trying to entertain crying infants and children with sticky fingers in this overbearing costume. Attempting to affect an American accent is simply too much to ask.”

“Oh come on. Where’s your holiday spirit?”

“I believe I'm wearing it. And I'm reminded of a time when someone complained about looking like a tomato on wheels. I think I'm starting to empathize.”

“If it's any consolation, I think you make a very good Santa,” Kitt said.

“Thank you, Kitt.” Devon fussed with the edges of his beard. “I'm just going to assume the children will forgive my non-American heritage.”

“Maybe, but they aren't going to forgive this,” Michael said, lifting the sagging belt on the costume that was clearly sized for someone with a more typical Santa physique. “’He had a broad face and a little round belly that shook when he laughed like a bowl full of jelly.’ Your bowl of jelly could use some work.”

“For heaven’s sakes, Michael, it’s far too late to order a more properly fitted costume.”

“That’s not what I was thinking.” Michael patted Kitt’s trunk and his partner took the cue and opened it. He pulled out a blanket he kept for emergencies. “You need stuffing.”

“I’m dressing up like Santa Claus, Michael, not a Thanksgiving turkey.”

“Well, Santa has a round belly. Again, you don't want to disappoint all those cute little kids, do you?”

“Oh heaven forbid.”

Michael pushed the blanket into his arms. “I'd stuff it in the costume for you, but that seems a bit personal.”

Devon rolled his eyes and retreated into the semi’s back room.

“You aren't going to cut him any slack, are you?” Bonnie asked, peering up from her creep.

“Oh, he’s enjoying every minute of it.”

Bonnie didn’t look convinced. She shook her head and disappeared under Kitt again.

Devon returned a few minutes later, with a larger, albeit lumpy, belly.

Michael sized him up. “I think you just might pass.” He handed Devon his hat and a large black bag filled with presents. He really didn't look half bad. “So Santa, for Christmas, I want 4 weeks of vacation, 6 girls in bikinis, and an unlimited number of drinks with umbrellas.”

“Only six girls?” Devon asked with an arched eyebrow.

“I don’t want to seem too greedy.”

Bonnie slid out from under Kitt. “I'm done,” she announced.

“Perfect timing,” Michael said. “Your sleigh awaits, Santa.”

“I was planning on walking back up to the estate.”

“You can't walk. Santa doesn't walk.”

“He doesn't drive a Trans Am either.”

Michael grinned. “Well, Kitt may not be much of a sleigh, but he does a killer Rudolf impression.”

“Very funny, Michael,” Kitt groused.

“Come on, pal, show some Christmas spirit or I'll scare up a pair of antlers.”

Kitt slowed his scanner to a stop in the middle of its track and increased the intensity until it glowed.

Devon rubbed his beard. “I do say, that looks rather festive, Kitt. Would you mind driving?”

“I would be honored to chauffeur Santa Claus to the party,” he answered.

“Splendid. I guess it's off to greet the hordes of children with sticky fingers.”

“Remember to smile,” Bonnie said.

“’His eyes, how they twinkled, his dimples, how merry,’” Michael goaded.

Devon ignored him, slung the bag of presents into the passenger seat, and managed to maneuver his padded stomach behind the steering yoke. Then Kitt lowered the ramp and Devon said, “I trust you’ll both be coming to the party?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Michael said, smiling cheekily.

Bonnie put her wrench into the tool box and closed it with a snap. “I just need a few minutes to clean up.”

“Very well. See you soon,” Devon said before Kitt backed down the ramp and drove toward the estate.

Michael stood shoulder to shoulder with Bonnie at the top of the ramp. “They make an interesting pair,” he said.

“Kind of a ‘modern high tech meets old world North Pole’ aesthetic?” Bonnie suggested.

“Something like that.” Michael watched as they drove around the corner toward the front of the estate. “’And I heard him exclaim as he drove out of sight.’”

“’Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night,’” she finished.

\----------------

-knightshade

December 14, 2014

 

 


End file.
